


Frostbitten

by mythic0wings



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cryogenics, Gen, Magic, elemental kingdoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:08:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4928005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mythic0wings/pseuds/mythic0wings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Held in the grips of an Ice Family, the wide country of Kurith has settled into a partial ice age; where green can only be seen long enough to grow crops. People of the Fire Families are hunted down and captured so they can be subdued and frozen. Brantley Morningsun, a member of a lesser Family manages to thaw himself and escape. While unsure how he managed it he runs for as long as he can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frostbitten

**Author's Note:**

> My first original to be posted here I'd be glad to here what you guys think if you have the time to drop me a comment!

Frozen air stings his lungs with each slow inhale, needles of ice sinking into his chest jarring him awake. Chips of ice falling away as something inside him flickered, starting a slow burn somewhere around his navel. Inching, twitching, he breaks from his icy prison in a body numb to the world. He falls face-first into the snow, sinking in top soft layer. Flakes blown over his skin melts into small droplets. Fumbling he braces his palm on the frozen ground and pushes himself onto his side. Gasping for breath while frost fights to reclaim him.

  
Cracking open his eyes nothing comes into focus, a blurred vision of white, gray, and muted blues. Harsh wet coughs rattle in his lungs. Everything feels too alien even as he starts to heave himself onto his feet. Something tells him he should be running, he isn’t sure what though. Just that it’s urgent.

  
Once he’s standing (he isn’t sure how he managed it) his eyelids droop to half-mast. Foggy breaths freeze over his lips, the world spinning around him. He should get moving. Moving seems pretty important. On the first step he nearly falls over his balance is so shaky. The second is easier but clumsy. Still, his progress is snail slow and stumbling; leaving a wide path in the snow behind him. Too cold to shiver he’s mildly surprised to even be mobile but he doesn’t want to question it. Everything is so muddled anyway he doubted he could make sense of anything right now.

  
He just walks and walks and walks, nearly falling over too many times to keep track off in his heat-starved body. When he full-on collides with a wall of ice it’s jarring enough to send him onto his backside. Whatever breath he held in his lungs rushed out in a painful exhale. Tiny gasps attempt to refill them with air, edging on a wheeze. However his body won’t expand enough to allow for any sort of deep breathing.

  
Forcing himself back into action he rolls over, snow clinging to any crease in his clothes or skin. Getting awkward limbs under him then using the virtually clear wall to help himself up. The ice sinks invisible hooks into his skin, taking thin layers away from each touch. Finally he’s on his feet and staring at the distorting thickness. Looking down at his hands he pants softly and, following instinct, reaches out again. This time the slow burn in his belly rises up through his body and fills his arm to the tips of his fingers. His warmed touch starts to melt the ice at a rate that shocks him and yet, doesn’t.

  
What truly surprises him is that he’s starting to shiver, his teeth chattering softly together. Breathing gets a little easier but he’s still taking small breaths past frozen lips. Reaching out with his other hand he melts a small hole in the wall that he can crawl through. The crawl is jerky, muscles contracting and expanding in fits as his body fights to keep shivering. As a result his walk is even shakier than before.

  
The burn in his body feels softer now, dimmer. Allowing sharp blasts of wind to chill his body; convincing it to calm its shivers and constrict his breaths. A part of him feels uneasy at the lack of other people but he’s too cold to care. He is really just too cold to do anything else but walk. No matter that he’s unsteady and the wind nearly knocks him off his feet with every blast. It only matter that he keeps moving, because if he stops he might freeze for real this time.

  
A semi-darkness settles around him as he walks. Hands gripping his upper arms in death holds, too numb to release. Snow has soaked his clothing and frosted over it, chipping at his maneuverability. Each time he closes his eyes it’s harder to open them, flakes clinging to each lash in a heavy layer. His thoughts swirl in confused loops; chasing their own tails but not knowing why.

  
His mind is in such a state that he hardly realizes it when he arrives in a town where people are tending to tied horses or shuffling to their destination. It takes a long minute before he can comprehend that someone is speaking to him and that he’s stopped. Legs trembling from exhaustion and his jaw clenched shut. Even then the words never reach him right so he has no idea what to say. He isn’t even sure he can speak.

  
They lay a hand on his shoulder and he leans into the touch. That’s when his legs buckle beneath him and he is pulled into the stranger’s arms. Keeping him from collapsing to the frozen earth and it’s waiting embrace. He only cares that this touch is warm and eases the urgent shout of _Move! Move! Move!_ in his head. Burying his face in the stranger’s chest, desperate for that warmth and a sense of security.

Someone, the stranger, is forcing him to move forward and he does his best to not drag his feet but it’s hard. The stranger - are they man or woman?- has to practically carry him up a set of steps when he can’t lift his feet that high. A sweeping sense of relief floods him as they come into a place suffused with warmth and the smell of burning wood. Whatever stability his legs had before coming into the room (a building?) is gone and he slumps boneless against his unknown helper. Nearly bringing them to the floor in a heap when another set of hands are forcing themselves under his arms.

  
Again they’re speaking to him but he can’t make sense of it. All he cares is that this place is warm and has smells that remind him of safe places (from how long ago?) and helpful strangers. Whatever they’re asking him can wait for the pull of unconsciousness is just too strong. Enclosing him in a sheet of blackness and exhaustion.


End file.
